Escape to a Daydream
by theobromineFTW
Summary: Peter Pettigrew has recently escaped from Azkaban, presumably to take revenge on the BoyWhoLived and his twin brother. An attempt to be creative with the 'Harry's twin' cliche. Rating for later chapters. No Romance.


AN: After attempting to write a research paper, I made a disturbing observation: too much time spent writing nothing more grammatically taxing than the notes I take for various technical classes has caused my writing muscle to atrophy – badly. This is my attempt to exercise it back into some semblance of health. All reviews are welcome – especially constructive criticism.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

_Alohomora!_ and the rat walked free.

* * *

Harry Potter was a Very Special Boy. He was a happy child, who grew up in a happy family in a peaceful village in the Welsh countryside. Harry always tried to be a good little boy, and he succeeded for the most part. He could hardly help that mischief seemed to be a genetic trait in the Potter line, one that he had most certainly inherited. Luckily, his father seemed to understand this, and made allowances for it. If little Harry liked to turn his brother's hair red and green ("It's perfect!" Harry would always say, "Red for your Gryffindor blood and green for your Slytherin badge!"), well, what's the harm? After all, James could hardly expect his son to fight against his very nature. His lovely wife Lily would roll her eyes while trying to hide a little smile and tell her son not to let it happen again. 

Of course, these little lapses didn't constitute Harry's only fault, he was human after all, and no matter how hard a little boy tried he could never be perfect. Some people, you see, thought Harry might be a little bit spoiled. Some said he had a touch of arrogance. This, too, was to be expected, though. Harry Potter, was, after all, the Boy-Who-Lived. After defeating the darkest wizard of the age when he was only one year old, Harry grew up knowing that he was a Very Special Boy. He was the only survivor of the killing curse and the savior of the wizarding world. One would think the whole saving-the-world thing would be a task better left to the parents, but alas, they had been lured away from the house by a (presumably 'former' at this point) friend. By the time they had returned, they found their two little boys screaming in their cot with a pile of smoldering ash on the floor of their nursery. What with every cloud having a silver lining, the Potters noticed something marvelous, something that would change their lives for the better: they could finally tell their identical twin sons apart. Little Harry now had a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. No more trying to remember whether Little Mallory was the one in red or the one in blue.

So, as you can see, Harry had every reason to be a little, well…_confident_ in his abilities. And if he was a bit spoiled, it came with the territory. Saving the world entitled a boy to a bit of pampering.

Mallory Potter, on the other hand, was not quite so extraordinary. Mal (that's what his friends called him, or at least he was quite sure they would if he actually had any with whom he was on such familiar terms) was quite average in every way. He had an average power level (as opposed to Harry's rather impressive abilities). He wasn't very good at flying (Harry was the youngest person on a Hogwarts house team in more than a century). He wasn't particularly intelligent (neither was Harry, really, but he did have a rather brilliant friend who was happy to help with his homework). He didn't have very many friends (everyone wanted to be Harry's friend). He didn't have any nifty magical talents (Harry could speak parseltongue). Mal never went on any adventures (the same could hardly be said of his Philosopher-Stone-saving, basilisk-slaying twin brother). Mal didn't really have anything that his brother didn't, except a talent for brewing potions (which had been mostly nonexistent until his Head-of-House and favorite teacher consented to tutor him).

Mallory knew his parents loved him, but it was obvious to him that they loved Harry more. They always exclaimed over Harry's accomplishments ("Really," Mal would think, "how many times can he catch a little gold ball before it starts to get redundant?") and told him how proud they were. He always got everything he asked for after only minor begging. Harry had a godfather who loved to spend time with him and teach him pranks. Mallory's godfather was in Azkaban prison. Because of all these things, Mal grew up with a deep resentment for his brother, not that he ever mentioned. It wouldn't do to speak against Saint Harry.

* * *

"It's supposed to be impossible to escape from Azkaban! How do you think he did it?" 

Harry sighed as the conversation once more returned to the biggest news story in the wizarding world: Peter Pettigrew's escape from Azkaban. Harry didn't know how he got out, Ron didn't know how he got out, and this situation wasn't likely to change regardless of how many times Hermione asked the question.

"It doesn't matter, 'Mione. The aurors will catch him pretty soon and then maybe we can finally _end this conversation_!" This last was said with a bit of a shout. Harry really had had enough of this discussion. He had grown up with stories of Wormtail's incompetence, and his parents had assured him that the aurors would have no problem picking him up.

Ron looked nervously between Harry and Hermione. Arguments were common in the Golden trio, and any little disagreement could potentially lead to weeks spent ignoring each other before making up and being best friends again. Things were usually worse for the noncombatant, and Ron _really_ didn't want to have to listen to the two of them whinge about each other this early in the school year.

"Hmph. Well if you're going to be snippy about it I'll just study."

"Fine."

"Fine."

"Oh! Hermione, I almost forgot. I found that book you wanted to borrow."

Crisis averted.

* * *

Mallory Potter sat alone in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express with the latest issue of _Rosarium Monthly_ open in front of him. Mal knew that Professor Snape subscribed to this particular potions magazine, so Mal figured it must be the best. It didn't matter that he sometimes had trouble understanding the articles, he'd get it with a bit of work. He turned the page and was faced with an article postulating that the effects of the Polyjuice Potion might be extended if the lacewing flies added to it were killed and dried during a certain phase of the lunar cycle. He quickly turned the page again. The year before, Harry and his friends had made the complicated potion so that they could sneak into the Slytherin common room. Mal's chests still tightened a little bit at the reminder of the group besting him in the only thing he did well. He had pleaded with Professor Snape to teach him how to brew it, but it was all in vain. The Professor wisely decided that no good could come from a student having access to that potion, and had given Harry, Ron, and Hermione two weeks of detentions with Filch when he found out exactly why Mallory had been so set on learning it. 

Mal sighed and decided to give it a rest for a bit. He wouldn't be able to learn anything if he was still fuming about his brother. Instead, his thoughts turned to the past summer.

His grandmother had died the previous May, and the Potter brothers had been excused from school for three days to attend the funeral. During the service, Mal learned that her wand had been made of ash with a dragon heartstring core. It was 10 ¾ inches and somewhat swishy. This may seem irrelevant. One might even decide that the tradition of weighing the deceased's wand at their funeral was rather silly. It would, however, turn out turn out to be very important indeed.

After Mal spent a few more moments staring blankly at the pages of the potions magazine (now thankfully turned to an article about healing draughts), a Ravenclaw second year wandered into the compartment. One may think that "wandered" might not be the best word, as the girl in question almost certainly came purposefully to this area of the train, but what Luna Lovegood did could hardly be called "walking". She always gave off an air of having wandered there purely by accident. She sat down across from Mal, pulled out a book and started reading. Luna and Mal rarely spoke, but had learned the previous year that each would let the other quietly study nearby without ridicule. A rare thing for two of the most socially inept students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

* * *

After a while, Harry knocked on the door to Mallory and Luna's compartment with Ron and Hermione in tow. Harry always spent the last hour of the train ride with his brother. He liked to make sure to take time out to give Mal The Speech. The Speech mostly consisted of reminders that Harry would always be there for his brother, that he should come to Harry with any homework problems, any problems with his friends, etc. 

Afterwards, Harry always felt like a great person. Even though the two had never gotten along, Harry felt this was important. Granted, Mallory never actually took him up on the offer for help and advice, but Harry knew his brother just got nervous around him. He wasn't really social anyway. Harry knew that if Mallory ever really needed to spend time with him, he'd take the offer.

Mal, on the other hand, always hated Harry a little bit more every time he got The Speech. The first time, he had been thrilled. He'd even asked to sit with Harry in the Great Hall one day in first year. Then he'd overheard Harry asking Fred and George Weasley what it was like to have a twin they actually liked to be around.

* * *

Eventually, the train pulled into the station, as trains are wont to do. Mal and Luna shared a carriage up to the castle and parted without a word when they reached the great hall. Mal took a seat next to Theodore Nott at the end of the Slytherin table that would soon be full of newly sorted first years (at least one of which would timidly ask if he was really Harry Potter). 

After the feast he walked down to the dungeons with the rest of the Slytherins. He entered the common room and sat down on one of the nearby couches. Professor Snape would be coming soon to introduce himself to the new students. Mal didn't really need to be present for it, but he liked to see his favorite teacher whenever possible. He used to spend the time imagining what it would be like if he ran away from home and Professor Snape adopted him.

He would spend all his time learning potions from the greatest potions master in the world. They wouldn't live in a very fancy house – nothing like the cottage in Godric's Hollow that was filled with priceless antiques – but it would be home. The Professor would finally call him "Mal" instead of "Potter," but Professor Snape would still be called "Professor" (Mal couldn't imagine him allowing the familiarity of his given name to anyone, even his adopted son). Sometimes, Professor Snape would get so caught up in his potions that he would forget to eat and sleep. When this happened, Mal would bring him a light meal. Sandwiches, most likely, because they could be eaten quickly and only one hand, leaving the other one free to stir. Professor Snape would merely grunt in acknowledgement, but Mal would know that he was grateful; he just tended to be a bit grumpy when he was brewing. Harry and his former parents would never be welcome, of course. Professor Snape despised them, after all.

Mal had come up with an elaborate fantasy world before he'd even been acknowledged as more than just another Potter by the man who would become his mentor. Mal and Harry both had been serving a detention (Harry had breathed a bit too loudly, and Snape had claimed he didn't see his forehead to know which he was so they both got a detention). After about fifteen minutes of scrubbing cauldrons, with Mal imagining how he would finally win his Professor's respect, the man in question had given him and odd look and asked him to stay after. That was when he'd first offered to tutor him, and Mallory was in heaven.

Of course, this was before his grandmother's funeral. The little house with Professor Snape was swept away with the weighing of her wand, and replaced with a house on the beach somewhere far away and exotic where no one would ever find them. Severus Snape wasn't completely out of the picture, of course. Mal would need a new godfather and his mentor was the perfect candidate.

* * *

AN: Sorry about the lack of action, I'll try to do better next time. Please don't forget to review, so I know what I need to fix. 

Also, I quite obviously need a beta reader. If anyone wants to help out in that respect, please send me a message.


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